A True Survivor
by AlexisPryce
Summary: When Wesley is injured in battle and becomes incapacitated, Fred realizes that she may never have the chance to express her love for him.


A True Survivor  
  
A Wesley/Winifred Challenge Story  
  
By Alexis Pryce  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to ME/Joss Whedon. I do not own them, I just play.  
  
*This story was based upon a challenge placed on the F4F.com Angel board. The challenge was to use the concepts/words: Torn Shirt, Strawberries & Cream, and Lust  
  
Evening fell upon Los Angeles like a tarp. Within a few moments, visibility went from fair to almost completely black. Wesley swung blindly at the dark figure before him, his heavy battle axe hanging limply in his hands after each swipe. A menacing sound, which vaguely resembled something of a teasing laugh, cut through the darkness. The noise was accompanied by a deafening blow, which cut the laughter short in the young hero's ears. The air left his lungs as his back slammed against hard concrete and he slid soundlessly to the floor. It was several long, painful hours before Wesley saw or heard anything again.  
  
  
  
Slowly came morning.   
  
  
  
"Angel! Angel!" Fred jumped to her feet and quickly fell against the bed in the hospital room.  
  
  
  
Angel rushed into the room, followed closely by a blonde man in black. "What?"  
  
  
  
Fred shook her head. "He...he was awake for a minute. He opened his eyes and made a noise. It was like...no. It sounded like he said, 'no'." She looked up at him, her eyes sad.  
  
  
  
The tall companion next to Angel nodded back. "I've seen a few comas in my day. That's what they do. Fade in and out. Sorry, love." He turned and walked back from where he came. All Angel could do was nod once in agreement and follow. He stopped for a second. "We're going back, you'll be okay?"   
  
Fred nodded.  
  
  
  
When they were both out of sight and earshot, Fred brushed some stray curls from around Wesley's face. She smiled slightly, touching a scar above his left eyebrow. He had received it from a battle with a Nem'ker demon, one who was trying to eat her. He had saved her life in more cases than that particular one, but just the memory of it warmed her cold and empty heart.  
  
  
  
Things had been different since Cordelia's death. Angel sulked more often than usual, with whiny Spike hot on his heels for the most part. Spike's previous encounters with Los Angeles had been unfortunate, to say the least. He was determined to stick close to the only other person in the world with whom he could relate. Soul-ed vampires were difficult to find.   
  
  
  
Cordelia died in the winter. Winter never really came in Los Angeles as it did everywhere else, but with the soul of Angel Investigations gone, it was difficult to believe it wasn't cold outside. After Cordelia had been hidden in a church by the demonic Jasmine, her body began to break down and required life support for her to go on living. During the process of moving Cordelia from her spot in the church to Wolfram & Hart's Los Angeles offices, the life support had been momentarily cut. The lack of oxygen to her brain caused permanent damage and Angel had to make the tough decision to remove her from life support altogether. Throughout the weeks following the procedure, Angel was nowhere to be found. Upon returning, Spike was right behind him. Neither provided explanation and everyone else has been too polite to ask.  
  
  
  
Fred sighed and watched Wesley's eyelids flicker for a few moments. She briefly remembered her last conversation with Gunn.  
  
  
  
"Fred? It's Gunn," the call had begun.  
  
  
  
"Charles...where are you? The connection is awful." Fred was moving files in Wesley's office.  
  
  
  
"Sunnydale. Or what was Sunnydale."  
  
  
  
Fred stuffed a file absently into a box for shipping. "What? Why are you there? Angel said..."  
  
  
  
"I'm doing some investigating. Angel sent me and Gwen."  
  
  
  
There was a long, awkward silence. Since the breakup, Fred had been determined not to be jealous of Gunn's new relationship with Gwen, but it was a difficult thing to do. "Oh."  
  
  
  
"Listen, when we come back, we've got to talk."  
  
  
  
"...about?" Fred grabbed another file and placed it into the box.  
  
  
  
Gunn coughed. "Gwen and I...we need to talk about me and Gwen."  
  
  
  
Fred pretended not to care. "Why?"  
  
  
  
"We just do, okay? I want to make sure we're finished before I--"  
  
  
  
The next file, labeled Benson but filed under 'F', was not so gently placed as the first few. "We're done, Charles. There you go. Listen, you've got to get back soon. Wes was attacked the other night and he's out of it. We don't know if he's gonna...just get here. I'll be in the hospital with him. The connection sucks. Bye." The beep that resonated from within the phone as it was turned off seemed dwarfed by the colossus crash when it hit the floor. A deep sob, one that had been hidden within her chest since Wesley was brought in, broken and bleeding, escaped with a loud moan. She sat hard on the floor and covered her face with her hands. That was the signal. The signal that she could finally let go of Charles Gunn. Their love had been soft for a while, then passionate and full of lust. The tempestuous end was more than she could bear, but she stuck it out. Now that it was final, permanent, she could let go and let herself love the only other man who had made her lose sleep and a piece of her heart at the same time.  
  
Now, Fred stared at him, the one from whom she had hidden her love. There was a possibility that he could never know how much she loved him. Slowly and sullenly, Fred stood and went back to her chair, where she resumed her sewing. The shirt that she was mending was torn and bloody, but it was all she could do to help with Wesley's healing. It was the shirt he had been wearing when attacked. She was convinced that if she could heal the shirt, she could heal him.  
  
*  
  
It was far too dark. Everything was black and his hearing was mushy. Everything sounded like he was underwater. Wesley stirred, opening his eyes for a moment, only to see a harsh, blinding light for a moment, then fading into a tiny pinpoint in a matter of seconds. With a sigh of disappointment and a moan of despair, he closed his eyes again. The only senses on which he could rely were currently hopeless. No scents in the room were familiar, save for a hint of a metallic smell of blood. He assumed it was his own. After a few loud, yet muffled sounds, there was a long silence. Something brushed across his forehead. Then, a familiar scent. Strawberries. No, not just strawberries. Strawberries and cream, Fred's perfume. She had always worn it, since she returned from Pylea. Cordelia had helped her pick the scent from an aisle of cheap perfumes. Cordelia, after all, had been charitable...but cheaply so. A wave of comfort fell over him and he allowed himself to fall into a deep sleep where he was no longer blind, but could dream of his love.  
  
Hours passed. Fred rocked back and forth in her chair, sewing with the rhythm of her feet touching the floor every other beat. She hummed silently, stealing a glimpse at Wesley ever so often. It had been nearly two days since he had been brought in. Twenty six hours ago, Fred had begun piecing the shirt back together. Now, all that was left was a hole near the sleeve. She was finishing the last stitch when she began crying. Her tears fell onto the shirt, mixing with Wesley's blood and staining it further. She shuddered each time she sobbed, knowing it was impossible for Wes to wake before she finished mending. A nurse entered the room, offering pillows and tissues. Fred tried to compose herself, but found that she was accepting both offers from the polite nurse and fell asleep before she knew it.  
  
With a start, Wesley woke. He felt a set of hands on him, but did not smell Fred anywhere near. It took the greatest effort of his life to open his eyes and whisper her name. When he received no reply, Wesley said her name again. This time, his voice seemed to be working. The air stirred around him. Everything was still black, but less dark than before. Figures were more dark than the background behind him, a tall doctor figure in particular.   
  
"He's waking..." a man said.   
  
Wesley felt a tear roll down his face. The sound of the doctor's voice had been clear as day. He made an effort once again to call her name. It was loud. He shouted over and over.   
  
"Winifred," he heard himself call, "Winifred! Fred! Fred!"  
  
Then, the sweet, yet subtle scent was around him. He felt her long, curly dark hair falling onto his arm as she leaned down. He blinked a few times, his vision becoming more clear each time he opened his eyes. He could see the features on her face, and no matter how distorted, they were beautiful. All he could do was just say her name. More quietly now that she was next to him, but with as much passion as ever. He wanted to reach up and hold her, but his limbs wouldn't go. Nothing moved. He bit his lip with anger as he tried to move his arms, but only his smallest finger on his left hand would give.   
  
"Wesley, I'm here." She was crying. A tear hit his cheek and began to slide down. She wiped it away before it got too far. "Wes...I'm here for you."  
  
Now, his eyes were nearly back to normal. He felt her hand next to his and brushed it with his one functioning finger. He looked up at her and smiled to the best of his ability. "I love you."  
  
Against the doctor's orders, Fred let out a great sigh and fell onto his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. "Oh Wesley..." she sobbed into his ear, "I love you too." 


End file.
